


Don't Go Home With Your Hard-On

by ruric



Category: Actor RPF, Kane (Band), Stargate Atlantis RPF
Genre: Community: comment_fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-08
Updated: 2009-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:02:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris hates the celebrity circuit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Go Home With Your Hard-On

Chris hates the celebrity circuit.

Partly cause he knows most of the people here are pima-donna-ish dicks who he’d only have two choice words for if his career didn’t depend on him sometimes making nice with them. Partly cause he’s really not good at the whole pressing-the- flesh-small-talk without some lubrication to make it go easier. And the rest is because these things bore him stupid and when he’s bored he drinks. But once there’s booze in play? Too often he turns into the guy dancing on the table and waving his dick in the air which defeats the purpose of his being here in the first place.

So he does what he’s doing right now: make sure the paps get a few good shots of him on the way in, stay on the edges, make his beer last one hell of a long time past how long it usually takes him to sink it and focus on something a little more real than acting. He’s backed into a corner, eyes closed, trying to work out how to fit the refrain that’s been echoing in his head for days into a chorus. 

Which explains why he nearly has a fuckin’ heart attack when a familiar voice whispers in his ear “You look bored. Wanna blow this place?”

Chris swallows the yelp of surprise, and scowls into Jason’s grin because the word “blow” should only come out of that mouth when they’re offering to do certain things to specific parts of Chris’s anatomy. He’s half hard thinking about it and he wants to wipe the taste of fancy European beer from his mouth, replace it with the taste of Jason.

“What the fuck do you think?”

Chris has never quite worked out how a guy as big as Jason can slide so smoothly through a crowd or how he knows all the fast back doors out of various public places. His not to reason why – he just follows knowing there’ll be a payoff at the end.

There’s a dead-end alley out back, warm and dark with a pool of shadows deep enough to mask them from the sight of anyone leaning out of the door for a smoke, and the worst that can be said is that it smells of old food.

Not that Chris cares about the food. He’s walking close enough to smell the sharp tang of aftershave and beneath that the spicer scent of Jason. The minute they hit the shadows Chris’s hand fists into Jason’s shirt dragging his mouth down, and the kiss is hard and hungry. This is no place to take it slow and it’s been months since Jason was in town.

Eager hands strip clothes out of the way and Chris doesn’t give a good goddamn that his $300 shirt is being scraped to shreds on the brickwork behind him when Jason lifts him and pins him against the wall. Couldn’t care that his jeans are dangling round one ankle either, not when he’s got his legs locked round Jason’s waist, Jason’s buried balls deep inside him so Chris’d swear he can taste the muskiness of him on his tongue.

It’s not easy and he swallows a huff of laughter at Jason’s exaggerated groan. 

Kisses are mixed with soft curses as Jason shifts, big hands cupping Chris’s ass and Chris slides a hand between their bodies. Jason leans back a little and Chris’s back drags against the wall - not just his shirt that’s gonna be marked up. He fists his cock, knuckles grazing Jason’s belly, wraps his other hand round the back of Jason’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss, biting his way into Jason’s mouth and sucking on his lower lip.

Bare assed in an alley somehow they find a way to make it work, find way for Chris’s hand to match the movement of Jason’s hips, and he can feel the tremor in Jason’s thighs and arms. If he can’t get enough of Jason’s mouth right now there’s always later. Jason’s breath is hot on his cheek, the curve of neck and shoulder beneath Chris’s mouth and it’s not his fault he spent 2 years working on a show about vampires. He bites down.

Jason grunts, moves in a way that shouldn’t be possible and Chris’s head smacks into the wall. He’s seeing stars before his body clenches round Jason, his fist tightening, a spill of heat sticky between them and there’s a tumble of words he can’t decipher past the ringing in his ears.

After, when Jason is sprawled loose limbed in the passenger seat of Chris’s truck, he turns his gaze on Chris.

“You been eating one too many of those rattlesnake steaks?”

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on. Fuck you.”

“Planning on it when we get back to your place.”


End file.
